Last Women Standing
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Micharol, ZA/AU. Michonne thought she was the last woman standing after Terminus, but then she found that she wasn't alone. Now all they have in the world is each other.
**AN: So this disclaimer on this is that I wrote it "just because". Someone asked me for a Micharol fic a long time ago and I was never able to write one, but I wanted to. I may write more in the future between the two characters and I may not. I did it simply to do it.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **All that being said, if you read, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"What is it?" Michonne asked as Carol stirred the pot that she had resting at the edge of the fire.

"Chicken and rice," Carol responded. She smiled at Michonne and reached a hand up to wipe away the sweat that came from standing so close to the open flames.

Michonne immediately picked up on the humor from the statement and laughed to herself.

"Don't play with me," she said. "We haven't seen a chicken in...we haven't seen a chicken in a long time."

"What'd you find?" Carol asked, ignoring Michonne's doubts over the meal that she was preparing. Michonne put down the heavy duffel bag that she'd been carrying and took a seat beside it, not too far from the fire to keep the warmth of it, and opened the bag.

"Nothing impressive," Michonne said. "But—I did get some soap and I found a half a tube of toothpaste."

"Time to move on already?" Carol asked. She was mostly asking the question, without giving it voice, of whether or not the area was picked clean.

"It's never not time to move on," Michonne responded.

Unfortunately it was true. There was never a _settled_ time now. There hadn't been for a very long time. Michonne hadn't kept track of the passing of the days or the passing of the months. She'd even lost track of the seasons. Maybe it had been two winters. Maybe it had been three.

Time mattered very little these days.

There was nobody left. At least, there was nobody left that they knew. Everybody they'd known had been lost in fire and explosion and smoke. They'd gone up like smoke. They'd been reduced to ashes. Terminus had been reduced to ashes—and the aftermath? The aftermath of it all had been a fight that had ended in chaos and bloodshed and screams that sometimes woke them both from sleep in the middle of the night, no matter how many winters were between them and their memories.

Michonne had walked out of there imagining that she was the last woman standing. Her fear, after all of those years, had finally been realized. She was the last woman alive. She'd travel the rest of her days, and at the time she'd hoped they'd be relatively few, entirely alone. She'd walked away from Terminus without even looking back. She'd stopped only for a moment to take the machete off the body of a half-charred and unrecognizable figure and she'd simply walked away from the burning remnants of what she'd hoped to claim as home and family at the end of the world.

The last woman standing.

She'd been prepared to kill the Walker that she heard, that night, rustling about in the bushes. She'd made a makeshift bed for herself out of damp leaves and she'd slept like she'd slept every night from the time the terror started until she'd found Andrea—with one eye open.

But when she'd revealed the Walker to herself, she'd been surprised to discover that it wasn't a Walker at all. And she wasn't the last woman standing.

Carol was slightly disoriented, as haunted as Michonne by all that they'd been witness to, and she was covered in dirt, blood, and a foul smelling muck, but she was very much alive. Over her shoulder, she carried Michonne's katana—picked up from somewhere inside the land of horrors that they'd both left smoldering behind them. Michonne had hugged her, not caring that they'd both be filthy, as sincerely as she'd ever hugged anyone before. And Carol had returned the hug.

These days? Two winters later? Three? They were all each other had.

They had reached the sea only to find that there was nothing there worth their struggle. They'd stumbled upon groups they had to kill and groups they simply outsmarted to keep their distance. They'd seen small, seemingly-established communities, but they'd ignored them and they'd continued on just the way that they were going. They stopped, here or there, for days at the time. During those days they ate well, washed, and kept watch together. And then they moved on together. Alone except for each other.

 _The last women standing._

They viewed everyone else they saw these days as nothing more than ghosts waiting to become.

And they both pretended that lonely never set in for the either of them. They both pretended that they never craved more than the simple interaction that they had—each protecting the other. Each caring for the other. Each recognizing that the other was the likely the last person that they'd ever trust in a world where everything was temporary and no one could be trusted.

Carol served the food into the metal bowls they carried with them. Today she'd been cooking while Michonne made a quick sweep of the area. Tomorrow it would be Michonne who cooked. Michonne preferred, though, the days when Carol prepared the meals because she always seemed to have a creativity to her task that made something less than extraordinary taste as gourmet as anything ever was these days.

Michonne accepted the plate and offered a hand to Carol to steady her while she sat, bowl in hand, on the ground next to Michonne. Carol passed Michonne a spoon from the bag of supplies that she normally carried and Michonne sniffed the food.

"Really," she said. "What is it?"

Carol smiled at her. She laughed low in her throat.

"Chicken and rice," Carol said.

"You and I both know it's not chicken," Michonne said.

Carol raised her eyebrows at her.

"No, but if I tell you what it is? You'll enjoy it more if you just think of it as chicken, Michonne," Carol said.

Andrea had always teased about the nights she and Michonne spent, out wandering around in search of something that they weren't even sure of, as being girls' nights. The classic kind of time spent between friends that would be complete if only they had a bottle of wine to share. And—more than once—they'd found a bottle to share.

And they'd made the most complete kind of girls' night that they could. The nights got cold. And the night was when they were most lonely. But it was hard to be lonely together.

Michonne still missed Andrea—but she didn't tell Carol that. Carol, too, missed people. It was better not to talk about it, though. It didn't take away the pain, and there was no need risking a misunderstanding that might lead someone to feel that they weren't _as good_ as someone else. Carol's company was every bit as good as Andrea's, although different in many ways, and Michonne wouldn't risk hurting her feelings just to bring up old jokes shared over similar—although less impressive—meals.

The food tonight, though Michonne cringed to think what it might actually be, wasn't that bad either. It did taste somewhat like chicken and rice, and Carol had seasoned it from some of the bottles of mixed seasonings she carried in her bag until Michonne couldn't taste enough difference to actually identify what she might be eating instead of poultry.

In silence, most everything that had needed to be said between them exhausted in the first year or so, they ate their food. When they finished, Michonne followed Carol the short distance to the creek they'd found and she stood on the banks and kept any Walkers that might come by at bay while Carol bathed. In return, Carol did the same for Michonne while she waded into the cold water and put to good use the soap that she'd scavenged.

They could go on like this forever. They _would_ go on like this forever. They hardly had any other choice.

And Michonne wasn't sure that, given the choice, either of them would choose otherwise now. Maybe once they might have, but now? Now they were comfortable. They'd grown accustomed to one another.

When they returned to their camp, the fire still burning low in the pit that they'd dug to keep it from spreading out across the wooded floor around them, Michonne helped Carol set up the tent. They put it up each night and took it down each morning. The tent was nice and they didn't want to risk losing it just because they had to break their camp in a hurry.

Michonne tied the doors to the tent open and Carol crawled inside to spread their blankets. Once everything was settled, Michonne poured the remainder of the dirty water they'd used throughout the day over the fire and bathed them both in darkness and the thick smell of smoke.

These days, even the dark didn't seem as dark as it once had. Even the absolute darkness had a certain lightness to it that came from becoming so adjusted to it over the years. It wasn't difficult at all for Michonne to find her way into the tent and to settle herself down, next to Carol, where they could both sleep with their heads near the entrance to the tent.

Both of them, now, slept with one eye open. And so far, neither Walker, man, or beast had managed to sneak up on them.

"These blankets have fleas," Michonne said, scratching at herself as soon as she was settled.

Carol hummed at her.

"If we don't have to move on right away in the morning—I could wash them," Carol said. "We've got the soap now. Of course, it would be even better if we could find some sleeping bags. Something lightweight."

"They'd still get fleas from the dirt," Michonne said.

"Maybe," Carol responded. "But I'd be more comfortable while the fleas ate me."

Michonne laughed and rolled onto her side. They weren't going right to sleep. They never did. Some nights they talked until they fell asleep. Others they simply lie there, each of them in their own little world and surrounded by their own memories, until they drifted off.

"We need to find somewhere," Michonne said. "And soon. At least for a few months. A house. A barn. Somewhere warm. We don't need to spend another winter wrapping everything we've got against the frostbite."

"Or we head back down the coast," Carol said. "Soak up every last bit of warmth that Florida has to offer."

"We'll never make it before the cold," Michonne said. "You know that. That water was cold enough to make my feet numb tonight. It snuck up on us."

Carol hummed.

"Maybe it snuck up on you," she said. "But I've been feeling it for a while now. I knew it was coming."

Michonne snorted.

"You wouldn't admit it if it did sneak up on you," Michonne said. "Too proud. And—that's why I don't care if your ass freezes to death."

Carol laughed. She knew it was nothing more than teasing from Michonne. She would greatly care if Carol were to freeze to death—but it was nowhere near that cold. Not yet.

"If you're so cold," Carol said, "here, you can have my blanket. And all my fleas."

She moved to flick the blanket over Michonne in a show of care, and Michonne caught her wrist and hummed in the negative.

"You need it," Michonne said. "No freezing. No getting sick. We don't leave each other." Carol stilled, even though Michonne still held her wrist. An almost awkward silence fell between them. With her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, Michonne could make Carol out enough to know that she was looking at her. She was just waiting, quietly, for some indication of what the next move to make might be—for some sign of what she should do or what she should say. "Say it," Michonne said quietly. "Say it..." she pushed again when Carol didn't immediately respond.

"We don't leave each other," Carol responded, her voice quieter than before. "Ever," she added, even though Michonne hadn't attached the word to her own statement.

Michonne swallowed. Carol still hadn't directed her eyes elsewhere. She hadn't tried to roll away and go to sleep yet. She was still just watching Michonne—for as much as either of them could see the other—in the darkness. Michonne moved toward her, inching her body easily over the blanket. She let go of Carol's arm, but it was only to reach the same hand out and touch the woman's face.

"I'm going to..." Michonne said, but she didn't finish stating what she was going to do. She felt like she didn't have to. If she wasn't imagining things, she thought that Carol moved toward her like she was entirely aware of what was on the verge of taking place. Michonne moved her face in Carol's direction and gently their lips touched. Caught up in the hunger for it—something not felt in so long—Michonne immediately moved in for more of the kiss, but then she backed away and pulled them apart. She didn't want to be the kind that pushed too much, too soon. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten Carol away.

But Carol surprised her.

"Why did you stop?" Carol asked, lifting herself up to rest on her elbow.

"Didn't you want me to?" Michonne asked.

"Did you want to stop?" Carol asked.

"I thought it might—I didn't know if you'd like it," Michonne explained. When silence fell between them again, Michonne broke it by pressing for some sort of response from Carol. "Did you like it?" She asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Carol moved closer to her, this time inching her own body over the blanket floor of the tent.

"I think we still need to look for that house," Carol said, her face close to Michonne's in the darkness. "But—I don't think winter's going to be as cold this year."


End file.
